Somnus
by Kagetaka
Summary: The story off the Batter, because he isn't sure where he is. How he got here. Or why he's here- except maybe the echo of one word rattling around somewhere in his skull. Purify. An OFF, by Mortis Ghost fanfiction.


**Somnus**

He isn't sure where he is. How he got here. Or why he's here- except maybe the echo of one word rattling around somewhere in his skull. _Purify_.

The world is a strange, unfriendly white, paved with yellow. He's confused, disoriented, but in a sense, relieved. This is much better than his room still- probably now painted red. Such a messy weapon, he thinks, as he turns the bat over and over in his hands, rolling it from right to left.

_Drip… drip…_

This world, save for the lapping of the water against the walkway, is completely silent. Not even the slightest whisper of the wind. He couldn't help but feel a strange bubble of resentment well up in him.

Is he dead? He should be. He sees no reason why he would have been spared. But instead he is here, standing alone on a yellow path, surrounded by a milky white sea, in a body that doesn't seem to be his own. It's taller. The hands are bigger. He doesn't remember anything from before, but it just doesn't feel right, as if he were wearing the skin of a stranger.

Filled with curiosity and an equal sense of dread, he runs over to the closest patch of water- milk- or whatever this cloudy white sea is made of, and stares down, squinting this way and that, trying to make sense of his fuzzy reflection upon the white waves. It's too hard to see though, and he looks away in frustration.

Then he realizes he's no longer alone. Off in the distance, following the path, he sees a small figure on all fours, carelessly padding toward him. It is… a cat, his mind supplies, a strange feline with a huge, toothy grin that would have upset many people, but not him.

He thinks he should be a little upset upon being addressed as a figment of the cat's imagination though, but he doesn't even know why he's here, how he got here, when all he could remember was a dreadful screaming from the other room, the wet, mushy cracking sounds of steel against flesh, and the door bursting wide open- no. Enough. He stills his thoughts- and announces all he knows about his presence here. He isn't a figment of imagination (at least he thinks). He is here to purify. Purify what- he isn't sure. Maybe this world, strange and cold that it is.

He has nowhere else to go, so he agrees to follow the cat's lead. Not cat. Judge. A judge of what, he wonders? Again, he peers over the side of the yellow pavement- and to his surprise, this time, he can see himself. Another sickening coil of resentment wells up inside him- why does he look like this? There is something he isn't sure of, but he knows he doesn't like himself. These clothing. That hat. This bat in his cold, clammy grip. He is a batter. He is the Batter. The word swirls in his head viciously and leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

He is frustrated, but he lets it go. Right now, Judge is talking to him, teasing and mocking as they ascend the only structure he can see in this strange place- a small building of sorts.

How much help could this cat offer him? He thinks, as the cat finally spots some small bowl off to the opposite end of the newest room they have just entered, and sprints toward it.

It takes him several seconds- but he answers the question himself when he strolls over at a more casual pace and looks down into the bowl. It is filled of a gritty black substance, that Judge seems to be happily feasting upon. Confused, he asks his query, but is promptly ignored by the cat and its voracious chewing. A little miffed, but still ever wondering of the environment, he proceeds on without the cat.

Again, he thinks, there is something horribly off and strange about it. It isn't exactly disturbing to the eye, nor is it pleasant to look at- the harsh contrast between white and yellow. It is… _bare_, he determines. As if someone has stripped the word down to bare essentials, liquid and solid, white and yellow. Everything is pristine, clean, and organized.

The soft padding of feet behind him and the tell-tale purr alerts him to Judge's presence again, and he finds the feline already at his feet, circling him. There is not even a crumb on its lips or at its feet, despite its gluttonous appearance earlier. It merely grins its ominous smile and then, introduces him to the world.

Zone 0. A queer name for a queer place. And apparently, it isn't the only one. The cat speaks of various other Zones, all fragments of the same world, a world he must purify. The word worms its way into his thoughts again and again. Yes. He is here to purify.

It was perhaps only several minutes since his…'awakening', but it feels like days. He blinks and nods at Judge's words, and if the feline was concerned about his attention and lack thereof, it does not indicate it. What he does pay attention to, is the fact that this place holds nothing for him, and although Judge is accepting of his role, the cat itself isn't sure what there is to 'purify' around Zone 0.

So he leaves, with the cat's blessing in hand.

It feels like years now, but he's certain it's still the same day.

Spending time in nothingness is certainly consuming- and confusing, because the world is pitch dark now, black and lonely. He had been handed a small card earlier by Judge- who'd claimed that he had various copies lying around. Somehow, this little flap of hardened paper is supposed to lead him to the next Zone. He takes a little comfort in the fact that Judge has most definitely done this before- and if a cat can achieve it, so can he. With that, the little slip of paper in his hand glows briefly, and he is gone yet again.

Zone 1 is full of life- but it is still deathly quiet, like Zone 0 had been. Life- as he sees it is as contrasting as the two colored world is. Life- is a small little person, with bone-white skin, pitch black eyes, and a wheezing, rattling breath. It is irritating, he thinks, as he looks down into those eyes, into the very being of this irregular, trembling creature that is breathing ever so loudly. It stumbles over its words and hesitates frequently to wring its frail, clammy hands or to take a deeper breath.

Before he knows it, time is swift again, and he is roaring over the tracks in a strange metal contraption the thing called an 'Elsen' had introduced to him as a 'train'. He can't help but push his hands against the glass of the windows, gazing outside with unnatural eagerness.

But the ride is over, all too soon- and he is back on steel pavement surrounded by white waters yet again. This world is plain- too plain.

Yet again, another Elsen approaches him- this one, wearing a little hat, seemingly has been forced forward by its peers to nervously gauge him, and his intentions.

But he walks away a more determined man. These things called 'Specters'- surely this is what he has been brought into the world to rid? Fear, calamity, weakness- they are the cause of it all, he determines. So he levels his wicked, nasty bat, and descends into the darkness of the tunnel the Elsen claims, the chief of the specters is hiding in.

To his not-entire surprise Judge is waiting for him, tail swishing around in a pathetic calm even as Batter points his weapon at him and accuses him and his purpose. Behind the cat, is yet, another strange sight for his eyes, but nothing fazes him anymore. He is beyond terror or fear now, even though it presently surrounds him, in this desperately safe world that is suddenly not safe.

It is, what Judge calls, an 'add-on'. To him, it is a mere ring, tranquil and calm. Because everything that goes around, comes around, from start to finish. There is a poetic and simple beauty in this thing- so far, the only object in this world he has laid eyes on that is not a harsh, block-like shape. The cat steps aside, urging him to approach it, and he does so without hesitation. He touches it with a bare finger, running it gently down the length of the circumference, and a spark lights inside of him, somewhere. Something nostalgic, protective, but fierce- and yet, so sad. To his pleasant surprise, it glows slightly, before fading from sight. Although it is gone from his eyes, he can feel a warm embrace, deep inside. As though something akin to an old friend has been returned to him.

He purifies the paths he walks upon. Bobbing transparent ghosts, heads, doll like babies, even the occasional whale- he slays them all, cracking his bat again and again like a whip. Beside him, the Add-ons 'Alpha,' 'Omega,' and 'Epsilon' drive their suddenly sharp edge into the specters at his will. They are something not really quite alive- but still, beings in their own right. He doesn't know how he knows or how to further explain it, but he owes no one any explanations anymore. It just is, so it is.

Nevertheless, one after the other, they had joined him in his sacred quest.

The three zones of the guardians have been purified- the zone's protectors, slain. Their names are only vague on his mind, and it never really made sense to remember the names of those he killed anyways.

But as vague as they are, something presses him to recall, even as he returns to nothingness, to journey on to whatever next zone awaited his purification talents.

The first guardian had been… strong. Very strong. Vulgar too, he recalls with some distaste. Rude and angry. He'd wasted no time in tracking him down and smashing him to pieces. Good riddance. His name had been Dedan.

The second guardian… although he does not feel acutely, he remembers the slight chill of disbelief as the firebird guardian had risen from its host's mouth until it eventually donned the cat (Judge's little brother, was it?) on his head. His name had been Japhet.

And the final guardian- this time, he feels true chills run up his spine as he remembers the hasty retreat down a maze of corridors, away from the monstrous, hulking figure that gave furious chase. Immediately as his body temperature drops, he regains control of his emotions until he feels nothing, yet again. That guardian, in the end, had suffered the same fate as his fellows. His name had been Enoch.

They were all dead and gone.

And now there is nothing else to do but continue the thankless job- and find the Queen everyone had spoken of. Except…

How did he get here?

It is a plain and simple lobby- except every time he blinks, he swears he sees the room… shifting? Sometimes he sees chairs, arranged in a silly facial pattern around the floor. In the next blink, he sees shadows and flickers of humanoid shapes shuffling around, filling the room to near capacity. A blink later, they are gone and the floor has split to reveal several bloody red patches blossoming all over the floor. Confused, but not quite disoriented (really, with how much he has traveled and seen, nothing shocks him), he carefully winds his way through, until he stands before a rather plain and unimposing door.

Still- he is a cautious man. He turns the knob, but the bat is the first thing into the room, pushing aside the door effortlessly. Furtively, he scans the room. Nothing except an old calendar on the wall, a bed, and a dusty stuffed bear. Reassured, he steps into the room, reevaluating it with his usual coldness. But a slip of paper, lost in the upper right corner of the room, catches his eye.

He nudges it several times with his bat, and the paper unfolds before his eyes.

It is a drawing, done completely on black paper, with red splatters forming up most of the middle part- and even a little sun in the upper right hand corner. If he holds it up to the light, he can see the vague shine of the pencil lines, etched this way and that. He squints a little harder- and two houses appear on the paper, one with a very tall stick-like figure in front of it, and the other that contained a messily scrawled bed and window, much like the one he stands in now. To the upper quadrant of the paper, a flock of 'v's descended from the 'sky'- must be birds, he decides. And lastly, there is a fat round figure, who is seemingly stuck in the earth.

Losing rapid interest, he turns it over in his hands, and sees, on the back of the childish doodle, a hastily scrawled, misspelled text.

'i have 3 freinds'

Scoffing, he drops the thing, letting it flutter forlornly to the ground again, where it miraculously curls up into its formerly crumpled self.

…Yet, he stoops down again and picks it up. A tall man, a flock of little birds, and a big man. Three friends. It's inexplicable, but he has always followed the base instincts that have so far guided him without fail through this world, and right now, they are crying out incessantly, begging for a second look.

He doesn't know why, but his feet have guided him over to the small, undersized bed as if they've done this many times before. Weariness, an aspect that has never been in his presence before during his sacred mission, suddenly seizes every fiber of his being, and even if the comforters are only suited for a small child, he rests his head back and holds the paper up to the dim light again.

Tall… little…big.

His eyes are fluttering- although his mind is straining to keep awake in fear that this is some dastardly plot to keep him forever trapped in some strange room, his instincts are at peace and total calm.

…

…..

He dreams.

In the dark woods, by the bare clearing on the cliff side, he is a little boy, stumbling from the foliage with wide, round eyes. A filthy, but well loved blanket is clutched tightly in his little fists. Everything is tall, everything is big- he is the only little thing in this place, small, alone and terrified.

He remembers his mama's words though. There's no place like home. And even if that cabin sitting innocuously in the clearing isn't home, it is still someone's house. He creeps over on silent feet, and remembers to knock, even. Mama would be so proud.

The only response he gets is a rough grunt and a weary 'come in'. Quietly, he pushes the flimsy wood door aside, and peeks in.

The only inhabitant of the cabin is not quite… like him, he thinks. Unlike his own pale white skin, the mister inside has dark, coppery skin, a wide, large mouth filled of long, white teeth, and is oddly dressed in a long coat that hands loosely on his shoulders, unbuttoned to reveal a muscular physique.

He shies back again, but the mister raises a hand with five long spindly digits and beckons him over. At first he wants to bolt again- maybe he's made a mistake and this was a bad man. But then he sees the blood on the mister's other arm, the one that hands limply by his side. The source is a hearty bite, seemingly done by blunted, but powerful teeth. He whimpers- what if whatever bit this mister is still wandering the woods? No, better to stay... so he creeps in and slowly closes the door behind him, as if it would shelter them from the tragedy of their ravaged world. Maybe this mister was okay, maybe he just…_looked…_ scary.

"Finally somebody, one could believe there's nobody on Earth anymore…" His strange new acquaintance mutters, more to himself than to the little boy. His every sentence is punctuated by a rasping, screeching sound. "Finally… Anyhow, I'm glad to see you, my boy. I got bitten by a cow, the pain is hard to bear…" The mister trails off, muttering some obscure words under his breath. The little boy thinks they must be the legendary bad words mama always warns him never to say- but the mister is a big man, old enough to use such language, perhaps? He gestures toward the only other accessory in the small cabin, a lone clock hanging on the wall. The second hand is not ticking. "Plus, it's been 9 o'clock for a while now. I don't like that at all. What are you doing here, by the way?" The mister's voice is slightly accusatory now, but still soft.

He trembles and remains silent, expecting a round of expected angry shouting or maybe a well-placed slap with those thin, broad hands, but nothing happens.

The man shakes his head, and continues nonetheless. "This ain't really a place for you." The stranger pauses, eyes narrowing in speculation. He leans in a little closer to inspect his suspicions, before his eyes widen almost comically and he backs up a little to give the little boy some room. "Ah! But no, for God's sake, don't cry… Everything's fine, come on, calm down. Here, dry your tears with my coat."

The boy takes the proffered coat's edge and looks up at the tall mister with large, watery eyes. The man rolls his eyes but presses the swath of cloth into his own hands and bends down to wipe the tears that have unknowingly, somehow, crept down his cheeks.

"This is only the beginning, it can only get better from now on." The man continues, as he busies himself with the duty of cleaning his face. When he is done, he stands back up with a suddenly businesslike demeanor that startles the little boy a bit. "So, do you wanna be a nice boy and try to find something for me? I'd like to know what day it is, since it's been today for a while… hasn't it? Wanna be a dear and go see what day it is somewhere?"

The tall mister seems nice. He thinks a little, and nods once, twice, in quick succession. The tall mister grins- he is always grinning but the little boy can see the slight stretching and widening of the corners of his mouth.

He remembers mama hung up a calendar in his room. Today was… oh, he just cannot remember! Every day seems the same to him, anyways. Dutifully, he runs out of the cabin and makes his way back to his own room, ignoring the shadows that nip at his feet as he sprints by.

It takes him several jumps until he seizes onto the edge of the page, and it comes off with an even tear. He takes a moment to read its contents- Sunday… 3rd. June. Waving it about victorious for a moment or two, he quickly scurries his way back to the tall mister's cabin.

The tall mister is visibly pleased at his easy success but he can see the corners of his mouth turning downwards in a solemn frown. "I suppose it isn't all that important anymore. Finally, I suppose it isn't that day anymore anyways."

At the tall mister's frown, the little boy frowns too- before a plain frown deepens into a more worried one.

It is almost as if the tall mister can read his thoughts though. "Your mother?" Startled, the little boy looks up and nods, but the tall mister waves his hand dismissively. "Don't worry, she'll come back soon, she's just off to see the new world. She's someone really important, you know. Once she's back, she'll revive all of this, everything'll work again. We'll reconstruct everything, solely with our bare hands. No exhaustion shall stop us, we'll be the future's builders. It's gonna be great, you'll see! We'll ride pedalos together."

All this time after the tall mister had uttered 'she'll come back soon', the little boy has been curiously observing the tall mister's impassioned speech. He isn't sure what it all means, since it sounds very important and adult-y, but when the tall mister brings up pedalos- something to ride, he can't help but perk up instantly.

"Have ya ever ridden a pedalo? Bah. It's awesome, you'll see." The tall mister trails off, leaving the little boy to wonder what, exactly, a pedalo is. It sounds fun though. "Hmm.." The tall mister pulls aside his coat a little further, and feels around in the interior of the garment, before retrieving a small book from nowhere and handing it to the boy. "I guess I won't be needing this anymore though- maybe you can find a use for it. Thanks for the calendar page."

A book! The little boy brightens even more. Books are important, mama always says. They teach and take people to other worlds even without really doing it. Well… he doesn't really know how it all works yet since mama doesn't like it when he touches her books, and he's never owned any of his own. So he hugs the new treasure to his chest, even though its title is unreadable and the interior of the book is filled of what looks to be pictures of plants. And then he gives the tall mister a big hug as well, before bolting from the room, eager to begin playing with his newfound gain.

As he runs, he only realizes too late that he has gone in the wrong direction- the home where his room is, is nowhere in sight- and he does not recognize this part of the woods. It's so dark and scary, he thinks, and keeps running and running. A flash of white flutters by, and he ducks, praying for it to be harmless. Nothing happens, so he looks up, in time to see a single, white feather, tumble to the ground at his feet. A little bird! He runs after it, only stopping to make sure he isn't going to trip over any thick roots or rocks. Luckily his surroundings are so dark and the little bird is so bright.

Finally, he stops, panting at the clearing the little bird has landed on. It is another dead-end, this time, a cliff where he can stand from and gaze upon the ugliness of the dead world. But in the red, burning sky, he can see then, little flecks of white, fluttering this way and that in no particular pattern. More little birds!

Excitedly, he stumbles over to the cliff's edge and watches them fly. But before he can go too far, a little cough catches his attention.

"What is that in your arms?" It is the little bird he'd followed from the darkness of the woods. "Is that perhaps a book?" It tweets almost reverently. "It looks highly interesting, I say. Be careful with it." With that, the little bird takes flight again to rejoin its peers in painting the sky white.

For some time, he is content to sit and watch the birds. For a moment, he can forget the ugly dried blood color of the sky and ground. Then he remembers the book, and it falls open in his lap. It's mostly pictures and big words he cannot understand, but he flips through the pages anyways.

He's suddenly up and wandering through the lost woods again, but this time, with the book open before him, it is as if his surroundings don't exist. As long as he has the book- he can escape from the darkness. He wanders for what seems to be hours- but it's as if he never moved too far from a certain radius.

For the first time since mama left to do whatever important things the tall mister mentioned, he is content and at peace.

Until he accidentally runs into a large white… squishy? boulder. The book's pages fly into his face, and he falls back, landing on his rear looking upwards at whatever it is he collided with.

Panic and fear runs through his veins again- but he forces himself calm and tries to remember how scary looking the tall mister had been, but he'd turned out to be a very nice mister after all! Maybe this… big mister… was the same?

Before he can squeak out his greeting, the big mister notices him. "Hehe, hey little one. I'm stuck…"

And it's true, the little boy realizes as he looks at the big mister without trembling. There is a huge hole in the ground, and the big mister's lower half is completely swallowed up by it. Even his arms.

"… can you help me get out of here?"

He knows the slack-jawed look on his face isn't very polite and mama would definitely scold him, but the little boy can't help it! The big mister is… big! Huge! What could a tiny boy like him do to help the big mister out?

The big mister seems to sigh in understanding. "…I suppose not." But then the big mister seems to realize something else, and brightens immediately. "If you go look for someone to help me, I'll bake you some cakes! It is going to be delicious, you'll see. And we'll tell each other jokes…" The elation is slowly dying down though, because the big mister is still trapped in the hole and the little boy is still shuffling from side to side nervously. "Run for help, I beg you."

The little boy feels sorry for the big mister- who seems nice enough as well. Maybe he just needs help like the tall mister after all. But who is strong enough to lift such a big mister from this hole?

Not the tall mister- the tall mister looks strong, but not strong enough to lift the big mister.

Not the little bird- the little bird is too small.

But wait! He remembers the other little birds in the sky. There are lots and lots and lots of them! Maybe… if he could ask them all for help, it will be enough to help pull the big mister free! So he runs off again, still clutching his book in hand.

He doesn't know how he does it, but he is back at the cliff, where the birds are still dancing about in the sky energetically. But he sees one lone bird, perched at the cliff's edge, and recognizes him. Puffing and panting, he slows to a walk, hoping not to scare the little bird off.

As if it has been waiting his arrival all along, the little bird turns around and observes his approach. Again, the bird's eyes stray from his face, to the book.

The little boy doesn't know where to begin, so he points, somewhere in the direction of the big mister. Like a thousand bullets, the little birds in the air swarm and frenzy, before one of the birds breaks off and flies toward that direction. It is back in no time, chirping and chattering away in a language he cannot understand. But the little bird before him nods its understanding.

"A big mister, stuck in a den? Calm down." The bird soothes him in its melodious voice, even as he gestures frantically. "I do not understand a bit of what you are telling me…" It tilts its head slightly in the mannerisms of its species, thinking. Then, seemingly having come to a conclusion, it directs a wing at his book. "If you give me that book, I agree to help your friend."

He clutches the book tighter, eyes watering and squinting. It's not fair! It's a precious gift from the tall mister, and he's not even done with it yet!

…But… mama always said not to be selfish. Especially if someone needs help. The big mister must be very sad, all alone and stuck in that hole.

So he nods, and passes the book over with a sorrowful frown- but something in the little bird's chirp of joy makes the moment a little sweeter.

"Awesome! Well… let me see what we can do for that big mister."

He is following the birds again, this time, they fly low enough to surround him in feathers and beating wings. With a giggle, he too, flaps his arms and runs, feeling like a bird himself. They sing and fly until they reach the edge of the canyon where the big mister is stuck.

No words are necessary between them, and the little birds take to the sky, leaving him below. But he is only all too happy to watch them flock upon the big mister's shoulders and sink their little feet into the cloth of his shirt. They pause, looking to one another, until the little bird he gave his book to gives a resounding squawk and they all beat their wings as one.

In no time at all, the big mister is being lifted into the air, and the little boy is laughing and clapping his small hands in joy. Then, to his surprise, more birds are descending from the sky to pick him up as well.

Together, they fly- the birds, the big mister, and himself. Over the dark, scary woods- past his little house in the distance, until he can see the tall mister's cabin.

They descend, lighting down in front of the cabin door, that is miraculously, wide and tall enough for the big mister to slowly wade through. A grunt of surprise from the other side of the door can be heard from the tall mister, but the worries are quickly waved away by the big mister's jovial laughter. Not before long, they are all crowded inside the little cabin- the big mister, the tall mister, and the little bird he'd given his book to. If the tall mister noticed, he thankfully doesn't say anything.

The big mister is the first to speak when they are done assembling. "Hehe. Thanks, boy. I see one can count on you."

"Thanks for the book, in these times of misery, it is a very precious treasure." The bird twitters, the book tucked away under a small wing.

The tall mister rolls his eyes and the little boy can hear some words being muttered under the tall mister's breath again- something like 'taking advantage' and 'extortion from little boys', but a prod from the big mister makes him speak in a clearer tone. "What a clever little rascal we've here." He remarks jovially, although there is clear annoyance in his eyes as he elbows the big mister back. A warning cheep prevents the small jostling from elevating.

"Until your mother arrives, maybe we could keep you company." The big mister says, while the tall mister is back to grumbling at both of his newfound companions.

The bird perks up at the idea of intelligent company. "We can discus about time and the fate of the world."

The rest of the words are lost to him because they are adults- even the little bird- and he is just a child. Despite that, he can still _hear_ the love and passion they radiate, as they talk about building and making and other big things that sound nice to his ears. Eventually, the little bird seems to notice, and with several beats of its wings, captures the attention of the other two misters, shushing them. "You should rather forget these words quickly." The bird says to him.

The tall mister and the big mister look at each other quickly, and the tall mister nods briskly, suddenly business-like. "Go on out. Have fun."

"You don't have time to lose, to listen to the lyrical tattle of three crazy utopists." The big mister laughs- and although he doesn't understand everything after 'listen', the little boy decides to laugh along- and the little bird joins in too. It's so dark, this large, broken world- but it's okay because he has three friends now, who will play with him while mama is away- the tall mister who promises pedalo rides and fun, the little bird who promises to show him the sky and a world without fear, and the big mister who will bake them all cakes.

Today is a good day.

…

…

He's laughing and laughing- so hard he falls off the bed with a resounding thunk. Immediately, the world is quiet again, cold, black and gray. But right.

The Batter stands up, the three add ons already revolving around him protectively. Yes… protectively, even without his commands.

Something is there, again, prodding at the corners of his mind. Begging to be recognized again. But he pushes it aside harshly. Whatever happened, has happened. And he has already wasted enough time as is. It is time, to slay the Queen.

…

…

She stands before him- exactly has he remembers her. How does he remember her? It doesn't matter though. She rules this land, and he is its purifier. Therefore one will die at the hand of the other, just like any other predestined battle.

Their exchange of words is a confusing one, such that even he cannot fathom the strange words coming from his mouth- because they don't feel like his words, entirely. The Queen too… who did she think she was speaking to, addressing him with such familiarity? As for himself… what was he saying?

_The cradle of my father…_

_No dessert for you…_

He doesn't let the confusion cloud his better judgment. The bat is swinging away, his three add-on rings clashing against the Queen's more ornamental ones.

_You've never been in this place to do even the slightest thing._

_I have done all this for him._

The words spill from his mouth as they do with hers. Maybe neither of them really understand what is being said, but merely knows these are words that need to be released.

_Now, because of you, I must fulfill my sacred mission._

_I truly wish for my children to be happy._

_You have failed your task._

The beating in his head is brutal- but so is the one he gives the Queen and her royal add-ons. One of her beautifully crafted, yet brittle looking add-ons crumbles into dust and blows away.

_I will not let you lay a hand on the son we have brought into the world._

A son? The Queen has a son? Then the poor boy would have to be next, after his mother was done away with. The fruit can never fall far from the tree, after all. But why 'we'? He has not sired any children, he thinks. And he has especially no memories of consorting with this woman, who attacks without weapons or mystical powers, but cold, monotonous, stinging words. It must be a trick, he concludes, to throw him off from the battle. But she would find him not so easily swayed.

Another of her add-ons, the twin to the first one to be destroyed, also joins its sibling in the wind. Only the one bracing at her back remains now.

Her words are a torrent of angry whispers- but through the hissed sounds and the muffled syllables, he can somehow understand them as they tear at his resolve and will.

But he is not weak, no. He's come far and traveled wide to fulfill this mission, and here he is, at the apex, almost done with his work.

Her final add-on fractures at the edges. He swings- it shatters. The next blow is aimed at her head, and she crumples instantly, her already blackened features slowly turning red as blood flowed freely.

_That was very irresponsible on your part, Batter…_

_I even made a big cake for the party tonight_

_Do you want some coffee…_

…_my love?_

He scoffs- but something within urges him to offer up a last, merciful parting phrase.

_It all went wrong. Time to forget about it and dream sweet dreams._

The Queen is fading away rapidly now, but even as she does, she lifts her head one final time, and her last words are carried to him by a dying breeze.

_Look. He has your eyes._

And then she is gone, carried away like the rest of her add-ons. He is unmoved, though, as the last of the words spoken by him, but not quite from him, responds to her dying breath from his lips.

_They are full of fear._

And they will most certainly be soon enough.

…

…

…_I'm here. _

He speaks, as the child continues to tug his blanket side to side. The boy is silent and remains so, save for the gurgling coughs he emits now and then. And so, he began his thankless task.

It's fascinating, really, how durable and yet, pitiably fragile the human body is. The screams, punctuated by coughing, the dilated eyes, the mouth open in a fixed 'O' shape as blood is freed from its confines. But life has not yet left the child, so he swings again.

Each sickening crack of steel against flesh and bone is… liberating, in some sense of the word. Something is there, tickling at the edge of his mind, but he is resolute in his actions.

_I'm… scared of the dark._ A voice whispers, not from the little child he is killing. It is only as he brings his bat up again and lets the blood run from the head to the handle, curling on his hands in the process, he realizes it is his own trembling voice, frail, weak, and small.

_From now on, there will be no more darkness._ Another voice promises, with icy assurance. And the room turns red, so brilliantly crimson red…

And he is there, terrified, huddling in a little ball, gripping his covers tightly as the weapon descends without care, again and again. It hurts- hurts so much, he wishes the tall mister were here to protect him with his body made of steel, or that the little bird were here to chirp its wisdom and advice into his ears- or even the big mister who could easily pick up his father and throw him out the window.

He brings down the bat- at the same time he sees it flying toward himself as though he is glimpsing the world from two sets of eyes.

And it all clicks in that very second.

It all rushes back to him so suddenly he almost drops his bat as a final wet, coughing wail breaks from the child's throat. But there is nothing to fear- and he will show him that. The bat rises- he's been through this before. This is mercy. This is rest. This is mercy… the mantra repeats, again and again, never passing his lips- like a rhythmic beat as the bat descends and rises, again and again.

The world is backwards- it is slowly fading from red to white but it is soothing, calming, even… loving. Yes. Again he strikes the body, this boy that is nothing more than a remnant of his regrets. He strikes with love, and wonders if this is how it had felt to that man- his father.

This is_ his_ path- not his path, but his father's.

As the boy's body slowly dissolves, he is regaining everything he had forgotten. This body is not his. This existence isn't his. This story was never his. His ended already- in this miserable room at the hands of a man who should have loved him.

He is 5 years old. His name is Hugo- he has a mama and a … a… a papa.

Except papa isn't papa. Mama has always been kind and lovely- she gave him what he wanted, but… she was never there for him. No, she'd always been at _that man's_ side. She had loved him to her dying moments, as the bat drew red welts across her face and left cracks in her battered skin, now darkened with bruises and blood while her pale blond hair fell in an eagle spread mass. That morning, the coffee cooled and had gone untouched. The lovely cake in the oven curled, blackened, and burnt.

Hugo remembers life- not of a plain white room littered with the fragments of his parent's broken love (a teddy bear there, a scrap of an old red blanket, a comic book he'd never liked), but of fear. He remembers his papa, who was once kind- but afterwards, only ever graced him with cruel, vulgar words, resentment, disappointment, and then, delusions as he'd chased his poor son down the corridors of their home while mama turned the other way. But… but he is still a child. He still dares to hope and dream- because he has seen other children with their papas, rough but kind, wise, and fair.

He had three friends because he could not have a papa. He had the tall mister, who protected him lovingly with his strong, steel body and would take him out on fun trips to see the world. He had the little bird, who patiently taught him its wisdom, and showed him the skies of a world without fear. He had the big mister, who was always fair to him, and spoiled him with cakes and other sweets.

He had them.

And now, he'd killed them too.

His tall, strong mister took upon papa's rage, anger, and cruel words and died with them.

His wise, little bird took upon papa's resentment and disappointment, and melted into ashes with them.

His fair, big mister took upon papa's delusions and madness, and fell apart with them.

And he is free now. He has faced everything his papa had become- and everything he feared. And now- he can finally lay himself to rest because his beloved guardians loved him, more than life, more than their bodies, which they gave up. They have never left him, either. Beside him- his three loyal add-on continue to sway tranquilly- yet ever diligent.

Because he is Hugo- he is 5 years old- he was, at least, until papa came home one day with a baseball bat and hit him again and again until the pristine white walls and carpet were painted red with his blood and he was nothing but a little stain left unseen in the crimson room. But his room is clean now- it is pure and white again. So there is just one more thing to do- and he can finally sleep in the empty nothingness

He will turn this world- his regrets, mama's regrets- OFF. So that everyone- even his poor, selfless, beloved guardians- can finally sleep.

He leaves his little room, now pure of his sorrows and grief, and walks down the long, white hallway. It is there, against wall, a lone switch.

Long purposeful strides take him- this body, so cold and cruel, to the world's destined end, and he runs a finger along the cool steel of the handle, admiring the simplicity of it all.

"Hold it right there, Batter."

He doesn't even need to turn to know that it is the Judge, his face finally devoid of the usual fanged grin- present even as he'd wandered the roof of the library in Zone 2 caterwauling for his lost brother. This, he understands, is the last role he needs to play before it can all end. That burning question he had wondered upon their first encountered resurfaces answered. This cat is here to judge papa's actions, the very ones he just finished playing out. They are almost all there, to the eternal paradise of darkness and peace, but there is one more person… someone who is simultaneously holding him back and is being held back.

So he obliges, and steps away from the switch for just a little while longer. But it won't be long, he promises himself and everyone who has died to bring him to rest. Bat directed toward Judge, he already knows it is time to dance, a final farewell waltz.

This is papa's trial now. He is just an observer. Hugo knows he has forged this body into a powerful, emotionless weapon. He, along with the three add-ons, are more than enough to kill Judge ten times over- if… he allows it.

The Batter is moving without his consent now, but Hugo is content to step back and watch the standstill. The Batter cannot strike the Judge, who is too fast- and the Judge is nimble, but not nimble enough to slip past the bat and three furious add-ons.

Somehow, he has relieved the final, dread-filled moments of his childhood, and papa's crimes. And now, he understands he is here to make a choice- to forgive, or condemn this sad being that is all that's left of his tortured papa. The Batter's skin ripples- expanding and bulging. For a split second, Hugo is reminded of terror and pain, but it is gone in the next second, replaced by apathetic calm yet again.

A piercing shriek and a roar ring out in empty space, and the Batter's skin erupts as his human shape melts away into a writhing black mass, much like the Burnts he'd killed. Almost immediately, the gooey mess coagulates into an upright shape and cools rapidly, returning to the familiar pale flesh. Huge, fearsome, jagged claws drip from the arms. A terrifying visage of bared rows and rows of teeth in a lizard-like head forms from the darkness and two dead, pupil-less eyes stare down blankly at the Judge.

…Yes. Hugo knows. Papa had become a monster to him, and mama. Because of him though, Hugo had friends who had let him, even if for a short time, be happy.

The tall mister would sigh exasperatedly and shake his head in mock disappointment, but Hugo knew he would approve of his decision.

The little bird would sing a soothing, happy song, and approve of his wisdom.

The big mister would laugh it all off and claim the moment to celebrate with a large platter of freshly baked sweets.

So he nods to himself, smiles softly, and picks his choice.

The Judge- poor kitty- collapses to the ground, breathing heavily as the Batter approaches- the short lived monstrous form melting back into humanoid shape. The bat is back in his hands, dragging along the floor as the slow scraping sounds spell out the Judge's death.

"This…" The cat coughs weakly.

"It's over." Hugo and the Batter speak as one. And although his next words do not mean to come out as harshly has they did, Hugo hopes his apology has been conveyed.

"Escaping from

Your purpose

Is

Impossible."

A wet squish and crack of bone breaking and blood is all Hugo hears as he apologizes again in his mind. Poor, hardworking Judge- just like his guardian friends who had taken upon themselves, papa's ugly aspects, Judge has taken his own, and died with them, fighting. His resentment, desire for revenge, and justice… he can let them all go now, and forgive his life and his death.

And sleep.

There is only a short-lived second of hesitation, but he takes the switch in his grip. And pushes it down, relishing the feel of the oily mechanism giving away.

It's time for bed now. Tomorrow when he wakes up, his friends will be there again. Mama will be standing nearby, her hands drawing back the curtain to reveal the sun again in the sky. And even papa will be there, free from everything that ever hurt or pained him- he's sure.

…

Good night, he whispers to no one in particular.

…

"_The switch is now on OFF."_


End file.
